


Missing It

by warmachine



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Drabble, M/M, POV Second Person, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:36:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warmachine/pseuds/warmachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean reminisces a little bit about Marco - all the times they'd held hands, those times he'd catch Marco staring at him, etc., and he finds he really, really misses all of that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing It

**Author's Note:**

> this is a little drabble i wrote in like fifteen minutes today :') sorry for the trashy summary, i wasn't sure how to summarize it without basically rewriting the entire fic in there
> 
> the title is kind of garbage too (drabbles are more difficult than they should be jfc)
> 
> i was just going to post this on tumblr but then i figured why not post it here too. can't hurt.

You’ve always loved his hands.

Marco’s hands.

He was strong, but his hands were always gentle. Looking at them now, it’s like you’re instantly sent back to every time you touched them.

The first time was when he helped you up after you’d fallen, and you took his hand and he yanked you up. That was the end of that, and the second time was when you handed him a pen when he couldn’t find his. You held his hand when you were helping him up a hill. He took your hand when he was leading you out to show you something he’d found – you can’t remember what anymore. He gave you a high-five when you finally made your way through one of the exercises, and you went out of your way once just to give him a few things.

You grabbed his hands when you finally brought yourself to kiss him the first time, and once he held yours in the middle of the night when you couldn’t sleep. You remember his hands rubbing over your back one time when you were crying over God knows what, and when they were on your cheeks while he was kissing you. You felt his hand brush against your forehead when he tried to fix your hair, and there was once when you held his hands for what seemed like forever while he talked and talked. There were nights when you’d feel them running all the way down your body, or tangled in your hair, and there was a few times when he’d help you with your 3DMG.

You miss them.

There’s other things you’re remembering as you look at him. His eyes, and his mouth – you remember how he’d glance at you from time to time and smile whenever you looked irritated. The way he’d grin and laugh and _then_ ask if you were okay every time you screwed up. Those times you’d catch him staring at you, or when he’d be staring at the ground instead, looking sad. You hated those times, but he’d always cover it up with one of his smiles. You remember the look in his eyes after you kissed him that first time, and how his lips felt… how they felt all those other nights, on your neck, your shoulders. You remember how tired his eyes would look some mornings when he just couldn’t manage to wake up that quickly, and just how big his yawns usually were. You remember the feeling of his lips on your cheek every night just before he fell asleep, and all the times he smiled while he was dreaming.

You miss all of that, too.

And his voice.

All the times he said your name, or supported you, or told you he loved you. All the emotion he had in his voice – you’d be terrified whenever you heard him sounding the tiniest bit panicked, and you couldn’t handle it whenever you heard his voice crack before he cried.

You remember the last thing he said.

You can’t tear your eyes away from him. You’ll never hear that voice again. You’ll never hear him laughing, or crying, or calling your name. You’ll never hear him tell you he loves you again, and you won’t hear him brush off your thanks whenever he helps you. You’ll never catch him staring at you again, or notice him looking sad. You’ll never feel his lips against yours or his hands on your face ever, ever again, and you try to remember all of these things before you force yourself to look away from him – what’s left of him.

You wish you could at least listen to him tell you goodbye. Maybe hold his hands one last time.

But you’re left with a part of him that just looks empty – his eyes are completely emotionless, and hell, he’s not even entirely there.

You stare at the ground as you force yourself to walk away.

And you wish you could take his place.

**Author's Note:**

> "can't hurt" might have been the wrong phrase to use up there. sorry omg
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading my tiny drabble thingy?? yeah. yeah
> 
> i actually started a different jeanmarco fic like last week but i don't think i'll ever finish it, so i'm leaving this here for now? yeah.
> 
> thanks!!


End file.
